Waybound

by Cam Baity

  Axial Phy wrapped her in a tight embrace. Phoebe had never been this close to a mehkan before. She could feel the axial’s hard, knotted form beneath her shimmering robes.

  “I am a worker. A mere jaislid, born to serve,” came the axial’s coarse whisper. “But I obey no ore-bound master. I serve Her. And from my labors, there is one thing I know for certain.”

  Phoebe looked up at her.

  “The gears do turn,” Axial Phy said. “Their purpose is unclear, yes, but there is purpose all the same. The components interlock, all integral to the whole.”

  Phoebe felt warm, flat fingers petting the tangles of her hair. “But what does that even mean?” she asked. “That doesn’t change anything. He’s dead. Because of me.”

  “Because of the Everseer. Your father was taken beyond the Shroud, returned to Her Forge. You did not cause it, nor could you have ever stopped it.”

  “But what…What am I supposed to do?” Phoebe pleaded.

  “Use the whist,” the old mehkan said, indicating the rust-colored shawl. “It is a rare thing, an ancient art nearly lost to the epochs. The whist is bestowed to mourn a fallen hero. Never has it graced one who is not Waybound, much less a human.”

  “I tried to pray with it like I’m supposed to,” sniffled Phoebe. “But there’s…nothing.”

  “You burden yourself. Do not pray. Use the whist to find comfort, to feel fiercely the love of your father. Embrace its silence, and I promise, your pain will melt like flux into the ore.”

  Axial Phy’s face eased into a crinkly smile.

  “Then, Loaii, in that nothing, Her voice will guide you.”

  Phoebe gently pulled out of the embrace.

  “What is ‘Loaii’? What does it mean?” Phoebe asked.

  Beneath the veil of clinking chains, the mehkan’s eyes flickered. “There is no word in your tongue. It means…” The axial thought for a moment. “For you, the path is…illuminated. She guides you. Few have borne the title.”

  “Loaii,” Phoebe said softly.

  “Loaii,” Axial Phy repeated and bowed deeply. “Use the whist to find peace. Makina will come to you in time.” The old mehkan pivoted, her robes rustling as she withdrew from the tent.

  Phoebe closed her eyes and draped the whist over her head. The axial’s words had made Phoebe feel lighter, like she wasn’t such a fraud after all.

  But her head was still swimming with questions, especially about her mission. She didn’t understand much of the Ona’s cryptic words, and there was no one to ask—she and Micah had been sworn to secrecy. The Ona had said she would explain everything once their escort arrived, but Phoebe couldn’t wait.

  She needed Micah. They needed to figure this out.

  Phoebe stared down at her father’s spectacles. One thing the Ona said rang perfectly clear.

  His function was. To save Mehk. Now it is. Yours.

  Banks of floodlights flared on as night congealed in the sky. A toxic CHAR cloud lingered over the vast blackened pit where the Citadel once stood. The area was cordoned off and accessible only to workers in protective suits. Any metal brought within its slowly expanding perimeter would decompose into poisonous slop, so all operators were equipped with specialized gear made from high-fired ceramic, reinforced glass, and wood.

  Goodwin peered out at the haze from the paltry lean-to shelter. After his unexpected meeting with President Saltern, he had returned to Mehk to face Chairman Obwilé and the four directors. First, Goodwin had learned that they were taking the Dyad Project from him, then he had been tasked with his new assignment: managing the aftermath of the Citadel—glorified janitorial work.

  “You were responsible for this mess,” Obwilé had purred, taking far too much pleasure from Goodwin’s fury. “It is only fitting that you should be in charge of cleaning it up.”

  So they had shipped him out here, to this mobile command center, little more than a tent village, a handful of open-bed cargo trucks, and a closed circuit Com-Pak relay dish. Goodwin reapplied mentholated cream beneath his nostrils and adjusted his filtered facemask as he surveyed the charts and blueprints.

  He had twenty Watchmen at his disposal, but they were useless near the CHAR. This meant he had to rely on a team of fifty or so human employees, a few of whom had already been evacuated to the Depot with respiratory problems. Even though he was well outside the Alpha Zone, his ear throbbed fiercely, a sign that the fumes were affecting his implanted metal earbud.

  This cleanup was pointless. Nothing of worth could possibly be salvaged within that foul morass. He was understaffed and poorly equipped with no further support coming.

  And yet despite it all, Goodwin’s mind churned with anticipation. Kaspar’s intel could change everything.

  Assuming it wasn’t just the wild raving of a madman.

  Or whatever Kaspar was now.

  “What is the current status?” nagged a voice in Goodwin’s ear.

  “We have been waiting,” said another.

  “Com-Pak sets cannot enter the Alpha Zone, so I am unable to correspond with the crew. There will be no updates until this work shift ends,” Goodwin explained. “However, there have been no significant changes in the past six hours.”

  “Your point being?”

  “The ferro-crotic spread has advanced exactly as our models predicted. It is unlikely that anything can be salvaged.”

  Silence in his earpiece.

  “Of course, if I find anything unexpected, I will notify you at once,” he continued calmly. “Is that all?”

  “What are these figures we’re seeing?”

  Goodwin turned his attention to his Scrollbar and sifted through the most recent upload from his Watchman unit. He had equipped them with perimagnetic densometers and assigned them to specific quadrants outside the Alpha Zone. Quickly, he made notations on an elevation map, which was already blanketed with red hatch marks and X’s.

  “What are you up to, James?” a voice asked.

  “We understand the outward spread of CHAR, but I am gathering information on its subterranean impact as well,” Goodwin lied. “I have the Watchmen taking samples of ore at various depths to augment our data.”

  “A blatant waste of resources.”

  “Recall the units.”

  “Focus on the task at hand.”

  “Of course,” Goodwin said. “This is merely an exploratory measure.” He spoke into his Com-Pak. “Watchman Unit 4J-729. Adjust subsurface sounding frequency to minus fifty feet.”

  There was a pause as his order was processed and obeyed. Numbers on his Scrollbar flickered as new data rolled in.

  Goodwin felt his skin flush. There it was, the reading he had been waiting for—his road to redemption. He scribbled on the elevation map, pressing so hard the tip of his pencil snapped.

  “Wait,” commanded one of the directors in his ear.

  “What on earth?”

  “Just what are we looking at here?”

  A warm, caustic wind blew, and the poles of the tent creaked around him. A sprout of jarring pain grew in his ear. He had to hold on to the table to remain steady.

  “Unbelievable…” Goodwin said, feigning surprise for maximum dramatic effect. “It cannot be.”

  “Report!” came the response in his vulnerable ear.

  “Yes, yes!” Goodwin said urgently. “There is an anomaly beneath the surface. It…it looks like a channel seven feet wide with eighty percent reduced density and it…”

  “What?”

  “A tunnel?”

  “Exactly! And it is leading out from the Alpha Zone.”

  “Meaning?”

  “Prepare an assault team,” Goodwin commanded.

  “Remember your place, Deputy Manager.”

  “Ladies and gentlemen of the Board,” Goodwin interrupted. “This is an escape route. I have found the Covenant.”

  Micah stood beside Dollop, trying to appear at ease while they waited for Phoebe, but his insides were jumping. Nearby, a huge complex of gray hid
e tents bustled with the Covenant. He had seen at least fourteen different types of mehkies swarming in and out of the domes, and he had only just started counting. There were chraida and those weirdo sheet-metal langyls, warriors like Orei, and others like the tripod creatures they had seen in Sen Ta’rine. Many were so strange he couldn’t make heads or tails of them.

  They were people—that’s what still rattled his brain. So many kinds of people. Sure, wandering through Albright City you’d see all kinds of folks—dark skin, light skin, long hair or no hair, big people and little people. But humans weren’t all that different from one another, not really. Not like mehkies.

  But the things that really lit Micah up were the siege engines. War machines, though that seemed like the wrong name since many were clearly breathing. He saw a walking catapult with a payload of spiky egg sacs and something like a wrinkly bulldozer with gnarls of serrated blades. Mehkies stoked fires in the bellies of cantankerous creatures. It was hard to tell the beasts from the equipment. There were warriors strapped into machines, and machines strapped onto warriors.

  It was too much. What was he doing here? A ten-year-old kid from Sodowa couldn’t measure up to this lot, even if he did have a Dervish rifle. But that just made him want to join the madness all the more. He dreamed of hopping on one of those siege engines and leading the charge with the Covenant at his back.

  His fantasy evaporated as he noticed the camp had fallen still. Mehkies bowed their heads and stepped aside to allow a figure to pass through their ranks—a sliver of rust, a silky veil draped over bony shoulders. Clad in her new shawl, Phoebe shuffled forward, ignoring the ripples of awe in her wake. She pulled back her hood in a splash of dark tangled hair, and Dollop touched his dynamo in respect. Micah just stared.

  He hadn’t seen Phoebe since the funeral. Her face was dead white with shiny scars of tears carved in her cheeks. Dark pouches weighted her gaze, brimming saucers ready to spill over any second. Yet her raw eyes were aglow. Maybe it was the patch of sun she was standing in, or maybe it was all the crying she had done, but Phoebe’s pupils seemed lit from within. They were chopped wood, bristling with splinters, sparkling with sap.

  They were so sad. So…pretty.

  “What?” Phoebe asked in a sandpaper voice.

  “Huh?” Micah mumbled stupidly as he looked away and adjusted the gun strap on his shoulder. “No, nothin’.”

  “Are you ok-kay, Phoebe?” Dollop asked. “I—I mean Loaii.”

  “What’s with the ‘Loaii’ stuff anyway?” Micah asked, feeling his senses snap back. “Why’s everyone callin’ you that?”

  “I…” Phoebe said. “I don’t know.” She glanced at the surrounding mehkies, who slowly resumed their business.

  “I tried to get in to see you,” Micah explained, “but the axials wouldn’t let me.”

  “I know. Thanks,” said Phoebe. “We should get started.”

  “Sure thing,” Micah replied. “After you, Dollop.”

  Their little friend perked up at the sound of his name. “R-r-right! Follow m-me!”

  He led them through the crowd to the central domed tent. Inside was a stuffy, jumbled commotion, with Covenant warriors hustling through passageways, hauling massive bundles to and fro. A few of the mehkies paused to stare at the kids, nodding in regard, but most ignored the humans entirely.

  Dollop saluted his comrades and watched for some sort of acknowledgement, but he received none.

  “Th-this way. I—I think,” Dollop chimed as he led the kids through a low corridor. “Be-behind the indruli dens. Th-they’re nocturnal and can get kind of…b-b-bitey if you wake them, so…”

  Micah snorted. “Full of comforting lil’ tidbits as usual.”

  He stole a glance at Phoebe, but she was lost in thought.

  “B-but they’re lo-lovely if you c-catch them at the right t-time. Everyone here is. You know, I f-feel like I have known some of th-these mehkans f-forever. Th-this is what it truly means to be an equal, to—to interlock! It’s exactly how I always…”

  Micah tuned out Dollop’s chatter as they followed him through the winding tunnels of black ore. A lantern bag flickered as they descended, and Micah looked through its sinewy skin to see bluish lights twinkling inside. Not just lights—critters. Little geometric guppy things swam around in the sludge, glowing whenever they collided.

  “…learning the b-basics of def-fensive theory. I—I even taught them a th-thing or two. Soon I’ll be highest ra-rank in my unit. Honestly, I d-don’t know how they managed without me—”

  A hissing stream of Rattletrap interrupted Dollop. Up ahead, Micah saw a Covenant warrior looming over their hapless friend, snarling. He was dull green with a hexagonal pattern like hammered scales, and his four stout, hydraulic legs stamped the ground while his segmented tails lashed about.

  “Hey!” Micah called, rushing to Dollop’s side. “Cut it out!”

  The stranger whipped around to reveal eyes and teeth on shifting dials, spinning like a slot machine. The mehkan flexed one of its praying mantis arms with a menacing buzz, and Micah backed up. Its limb was wrapped with whizzing spikes and blades, some kind of wackadoodle chainsaw.

  Dollop pleaded with the mantis mehkan in Rattletrap. Then the Covenant warrior shoved a weighty foil bundle into Dollop’s arms and stalked off without a second look at the kids.

  “What was that all about?” asked Phoebe.

  “Th-that what?” Dollop asked, playing dumb. “Who, um, hi-him? Oh, haha! No, nothing. Ju-just a little job I forgot to do.”

  “Whaddya mean, ‘job’?” pressed Micah.

  “I—I have to peel this bu-bunch of kolchi nuts for Brother Nuhlarg. Tiulus like him ca-can’t be bothered with menial tasks. Such is the li-life of a Covenant warrior. This a-way!”

  Micah cast a wary eye back at the departing chainsaw mantis before following behind Dollop and a solemn Phoebe. They shuffled down another corridor, past a series of reinforced reed hatches. Security gates, Micah supposed. Probably for those flesh-eating droolie thingies that Dollop said were sleeping nearby. The thought made Micah move along a little faster.

  They emerged into a dark chamber with a low ceiling draped in clumpy root wires. The air shook with the muffled tromping of warriors above ground. Micah fussed around with his rifle for a moment, then activated the light that was mounted on it. He flashed the bright beam around to reveal crates glinting from niches carved into the ore. A lot of them.

  “S-s-so? What do you th-think?” Dollop asked.

  Micah opened a few of the cases. They were packed with random stuff, like someone had tossed in whatever they could find. There were wet and dry rations, framed photos and jewelry, protective gear, reams of papers and Computator parts. Then, in the jumble, Micah spied a familiar logo on a cardboard box.

  “Jackpot!” he whooped, tearing into it. He tossed a little foil-wrapped thing to Phoebe, who fumbled it.

  “Wackers,” she read aloud, picking up the crinkly object.

  “Ya bet yer butt it is!” Micah hollered with his mouth already full of creamy white chocolate and salty macadamia nuts. “Oh man, never thought I’d taste that again!” He ripped open another Wackers bar, peeled off the paper lining within, and crammed the whole thing into his overstuffed cheeks while he rummaged through the goodies. There were cans of soup, pouches of dried fruit, dehydrated meal packets, and aluminum bottles of water. “There’s enough chow here for, like, a hundred years.”

  “The Ona said our mission would only take a day,” Phoebe replied, poking into a crate. “We just need a few essentials.”

  “We’ll eat like kings!” Micah said. He started sorting the supplies. “Why’d the Covenant keep this human junk anyway?”

  “It wa-was for…” Dollop trailed off, shifting under the weight of his bundle. His bug eyes darted at Phoebe. “You know…”

  Micah felt the room go cold.

  Stupid Dollop. Did he have to bring up the Doc? Phoebe turned stiffly and wandered off. Micah had to
do something.

  “Say, where’s the ammo?” he asked. “I’m runnin’ low.”

  “Oh, yo-you won’t need your gun,” Dollop assured him. “You and—and Loaii will be escorted by th-the Aegis.”

  Dollop said it as if it explained everything. Micah stared at him wide-eyed, motioning for more information.

  “The Aegis are Em-Emberguard, the Ona’s silent-sworn, fiercest war-r-riors in, err, all of Mehk. It is said they can—can vanish into the thin air. Th-they are as noiseless as the Shroud, and—and unmatched in battle.” His voice lowered. “Only th-they can tame the kav’o…which is to wield the living weapons.”

  “Wicked,” Micah whispered back.

  Dollop nodded sagely. “Y-you w-will have nothing to fear with them p-protecting you.”

  “Bleh—creamed beets? Seriously?” Micah scrunched his nose at a can and tossed it back into the crate. “Aegis or not, I ain’t goin’ unarmed. You might wanna get yourself some heat too, chum. No tellin’ what we’re gonna be up against.”

  The mehkan shifted awkwardly and looked at the ground.

  “Dollop,” Phoebe whispered somewhere in the darkness. “You’re not coming with us, are you?”

  “Say what?” Micah shot back. “No way, Dollop. You have to!”

  Phoebe came back into the rifle light, her sore eyes shimmering wet with fresh tears. “What about us?” she said.

  Dollop offered a feeble smile. “You two have been ch-chosen by the Ona. By Makina. I—I’d l-like to join you, but I’m in the Co-Covenant now. We have ma-many preparations to make. All our ca-camps, we all—all must come together.”

  “There’s other camps?” Micah asked.

  “The Covenant is scattered throughout Mehk, embedded in ev-every city. The—the time has come for the Children of Ore to unite. I have to b-be ready for that. My br-brethren need me.”

  “To what, peel nuts?” Micah snorted. “No way. You belong with us. Come on, Phoebe. Let’s just tell him about the Ona’s secret mission. He ain’t gonna blab.”

  Phoebe shook her head, and Dollop covered his ears.

  “N-no! The Ona has reasons for her se-secrets. I—I have to earn my pl-place here.” He touched the silver splattered scars on his chest. “We are all vital co-components.”